


The Life of Hobbits

by NiteOwlNest



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Heartbreak, One Shot Collection, Platonic Relationships, Romance, Sexual Content, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-02-20 09:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteOwlNest/pseuds/NiteOwlNest
Summary: The missing tales of Cori Houndberry, the hobbit lass who snatched the heart of King Thorin II Oakenshield.*Contains spoilers for "The Service of Hobbits" and "The Loyalty of Hobbits."





	1. Cori Houndberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little biography for Cori Houndberry, my hobbit OC.
> 
> Concurrent with "The Service of Hobbits." Subject to update in the future

**Identity:**

Full name: Coronilla Houndberry

Age: 

      -Beginning of TSOH: 35

      -End of TSOH:36

      -Beginning of TLOH: 37

      -End of TLOH: 38

Race: hobbit

Gender: female

Birthday: May 14th, TA 2907

Nickname(s): Cori, Miss Houndberry

Occupation: farmer (formerly), fur trader, Queen of Erebor

**Physical Appearance:**

Eye color: blue

Hair color: dark brown

Skin color: naturally pale 

Height: 3 ft. 6 in. (1.03m)

**Background:**

Hometown: Bucklebury, Buckland

Social status: farming family

Accent: similar to Merry Brandybuck

Mother: Barbarella Houndberry (née Birdlelark)

Father: Dennon Houndberry

Siblings (oldest to youngest): Margow (f), Dugon (m), Chrys (f), Maggy (Magnolia, f),  **Cori** , Garthor (m)

Other relatives: Cornelius Houndberry (ancestor), 9 nieces & nephews: 

       -Margow (Featon): Teagon, Marigold, Belle, Donton

       -Dugon (Ivy): Poppy, Lotus, (pregnant)

       -Chrys (Orlo): Farlo, Sadoc, Rorimac

       -Maggy (Therry): Cornelia

**Other:**

Weapons: bow and arrows, dwarvish  short sword

Mount: Shadow (fleabitten grey pony)

**Small trivia:**

1\. "Houndberry" is a play on the dogwood tree, the fruits of which are sometimes called "dogberries" or "houndberries" (according to Wikipedia). They are one of my favorite flowers, as the trees grow abundantly where I live.

2\. Cori was originally created to accompany the dwarves on the Quest for Erebor, but I eventually decided to give her an original story.

3\. Shadow, Cori's pony, is actually based off of a real life horse I know and adore.


	2. Timeline of "The Service of Hobbits"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Service of Hobbits" takes places over a long period of time. The seasons change, but when do these events actually take place? Here is the timeline I kept throughout writing the story to keep myself organized, if anyone was curious.

  * November 23 – Cori find Fíli
  * November 24 – Arrival to Erebor
  * November 25 – Collecting the dead
  * November 26 – Arrival back to Erebor
  * November 30 – Journey begins
  * December 6 – Arrival at the entrance to Mirkwood
  * December 12 – Leaving Mirkwood
  * December 13 – Arrival to Beorn’s house
  * December 16 – Leaving Beorn’s
  * December 20 – Arrival into the Misty Mountains
  * December 24 – Blizzard
  * December 27 – Passing Imladris
  * December 29 – Last Bridge over Hoarwell
  * January 16 – Arrival at Bree
  * January 17 – Cori leaves Bree alone
  * January 20 – Arrival in Buckland
  * January 25 – Leaving Buckland
  * January 27 – Camping with the Rangers
  * January 28 – Return to the Company
  * February 17 – Arrival at Durmark
  * March 1 – Leaving Durmark
  * March 3 – Arrival at Arkhun; Nord
  * March 4 – Leaving Nord
  * March 15 – Leaving the Southern Blue Mountains
  * March 23 – Crossing the Lune
  * April 1 – Arrival in Ereven
  * April 2 – Leaving Ereven; Arriving in Stonewall
  * April 13 – Incident at the Lune
  * April 14 – Thorin captured
  * April 15 – The rescue
  * April 18 – Entering Hobbiton
  * April 20 – Leaving Hobbiton; meeting with the dwarf army
  * April 22 – Attack on Annúminas
  * May 6 – Return to Ereven
  * May 7 – Cori leaves Ereven alone
  * May 14 – Cori arrives in Buckland
  * May 28 – the Rangers give the news of orc activity
  * June 4 – Cori goes to Whitfurrows
  * June 10 – Word about Ryone’s forces from the north reaches Cori
  * June 11 – The Shire is attacked
  * June 17 – Hobbit army sets out from Buckleberry
  * June 21 – Army stays in Deephallows for the night
  * June 27 – Army arrives in Tuckborough
  * June 30 – Army arrives in Hobbiton
  * July 8 – Hobbits free dwarves in Overton
  * July 14 – Battle Out of Oatbarton
  * July 16 – Return to Hobbiton
  * July 19 – Return to Buckleberry
  * July 20 – The Company of King Thorin leaves Buckleberry; Cori stays




	3. Meeting at Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Cori Houndberry and King Thorin II Oakenshield did not start with the fateful meeting between Cori and Prince Fili. By happenstance, they ended up in the same place at the same time only a little earlier in their lives. This chance meeting, however, could not possibly be the beginning of a long road ending in courtship. Could it?

**June, T.A. 2941: Thorin and company reach Rivendell before crossing the Misty Mountains**

Dwarves.

The word was spreading around Rivendell like wildfire, most often accompanied by a sneer of derision. If Cori Houndberry was quite honest, she had not once heard elves speak of anything with such disdain. They were prone to haughtiness, she knew, a byproduct of their standing amongst the rest of those in Middle-earth and the favor granted them by the Valar. Never too pretentious about it, as their nature allowed them to be nothing less than graceful and elegant in everything they do. For that reason, it would seem, they had taken a personal affront to the condition of the dwarves. Cori saw they were justified.

The dark-haired hobbit politely declined dinner with Lord Elrond, who would be hosting a company of dwarves and Gandalf the Grey, in favor of setting to work on her newest collection of pelts that desperately needed sewing. Eventually, however, her fingers grew cramped and her legs restless, so she left the comfortable peace of her temporary living quarters and began a slow ambling throughout the Last Homely House. The sun was just setting behind the mountains surrounding the elven town, bathing the entire place in a soft, warm glow. The birds chirped their last songs for the day, and no matter where one trod, the soothing trickle of a stream drifted through the air. Rivendell was as close to the Shire as Cori had found on her many travels, and unlike her prior visit, which had been her first, she could actually explore and enjoy to her heart's content. Eventually, her wanderings led her through the halls to the dining patio used for special occasions. It was there that she found the center of the fuss that had erupted throughout the whole house.

Of all the customers she traded with, dwarves were by far the most profitable acquisition she had undertaken. They loved furs. Cori could guess the reason: their subterranean fortresses they called home were about as cozy as a wine cellar. Their aversion to extreme temperatures only went so far. As such knowledge went, she had spent a great deal of time in their company while on business in order to gain it, a feat itself considering their boisterous behavior tended to dwindle away whenever she was in earshot. From it all, she concluded that she did not like dwarves very much, and this did no favors for them in her sight. She took up a spot just behind a winding staircase and watched, arms crossed. The dwarves picked and prodded at their food as if it would reach out and bite them, refusing to touch some of it with grimaces of disgust.

 _What an ungrateful lot_ , she thought with a twitch in her eye. Cori felt the snub personally, despite the fact that no one knew she was there. That was Yavanna's precious yielding from the earth they were fondling. What gave them the right to toss it aside like filthy rags? It should be appreciated, handled with care and reverence, especially when in the hands of weary travelers like herself. She would not turn down a free meal for all her pride; she knew hunger, and she did not like it. The blatant disrespect prickled up her spine like cutlery scraped across a plate, not only to the Green Lady, but to the elves. They freely offered shelter and food to these dwarves. Whatever disagreement the two races had had in the past, neither were justified in any incivility toward the other. This was just ridiculous.

 _Wait._ Her sharp blue eyes scanning the group stopped when she saw who was sitting at the table nearest her. _It can't be._ Was that...Bilbo Baggins? What was he doing with a bunch of dwarves of all people? The last time Cori saw him, the respectable hobbit was hard-pressed to go as far as Bree, let alone reach the Misty Mountains. That had been fourteen years ago. Many questions she had were answered by taking a quick glance at the table where Lord Elrond reposed. On the opposite end, across from the dark-haired dwarf who sat in his chair as rigid as an icicle, Gandalf continued to indulge in his meal while Elrond did most of the speaking. Cori knew the wandering wizard had been friends of the Bagginses for many years, specifically Old Took's wild card of a daughter Belladonna, Bilbo's mother, rest her soul. If anyone could pull Bilbo out of Bag End by his ear, it was Gandalf, and it seemed he was successful. Still, what were either of them doing with a company of dwarves?

Her childhood had been filled with nothing but ignorant ramblings about greedy, brutish dwarves and their barbaric ways. While her travels had provided her with adequate evidence to refute all the claims of the dirty, smelly, wife-beating animals (come on, they treated their women like the rarest of treasures), they upheld an arrogance to rival the elves, which may have answered the question of the rift between them, and the war that was about to start now. They were singing, and while that alone was not what offended her, she seethed at how they now tossed around the food they refused to eat like pieces of confetti. _Such a waste,_ the hobbit in her grumbled, and she clenched her fists tightly. _Such a wasteful rabble._

The dwarves cared only for themselves and their troubles. This lot decided to spit on the good will of their hosts and start a food fight to egg on their own entertainer for the evening. Lord Elrond and the other elves present were mortified, and she hardly blamed them. Neither did any of this surprise her. While dwarves were typically polite during, say, business dealings, if small talk about the weather threatened to turn toward any secret business of theirs, outsiders quickly became dirt on their boots. Cori lost count of how many times she had been shut out of pleasant conversations simply because she was curious about any upcoming holidays. Their perpetual rudeness drove her mad. Eventually, she stopped asking and even talking altogether. It was hardly worth giving herself a headache, and so as soon as she felt the first throbbing on her temples, she left her hiding spot, gaze lingering a while on the leader who went along with the game, stoic face brightened with a tight grin.

For three days, Cori managed to avoid the dwarves at all costs, though that was not terribly difficult considering they tended to stick together in one place with no desire to meet anyone else. She just tended to her furs, her bow and arrows, and hid away in Elrond's vast library. It was the last night of her stay in Rivendell when her luck ran out. As soon as the moon rose, Cori emerged from her room once more, keen on taking in Rivendell under starlight. She hated to leave this magical place, but her debt to Lord Elrond had been paid. There were more furs to collect and sell before winter so she could stave off starvation once the snow began to fall. She wondered briefly where she would hunker down this year. She had not visited home in quite some time. What kind of explanation could she give for why she blatantly passed through the Shire to the Blue Mountains _twice_ without stopping in? Frankly, she had no desire to give one at the moment. Because packing on more heat by postponing her return sounded so much more appealing. She tapped her boot against the leg of a stone bench. When had her life taken such a low dive? _When you allowed it._ A deep sigh passed through her nose.

All of a sudden, exasperated voices broke through the haze of her drifting thoughts. She blinked, realizing her feet brought her back to the dining patio she had been to earlier. Here, the house's gallery was one full display, where murals of Middle-earth's history adorned the walls and statues immortalized those who had passed on. She had come through and perused on her first night here, when all was quiet and abandoned, but tonight, there were others here. She peered through the railing from the second level catwalk to the floor below. Elrond stood, ever the picture of grace as he set a patient expression upon those he spoke with. Gandalf stood out amongst the rest, as always. And finally, three smaller figures waited on the other side of the room: two dwarves and Bilbo Baggins.

Gandalf was already at his wit's end, which did not exactly seem inappropriate considering the company he was keeping at the moment. "For goodness' sake, Thorin, show him the map!"

The leader of the group stood next to his companion with a long, snowy beard and fidgety feet, his dark chin tilted upward. His gravelly voice came diplomatically, but with a sharp edge to it. "It is the legacy of my people. It's mine to protect, as are its secrets."

Thorin. Cori had heard that name before. How could she not have heard it, after all the time she spent in Ered Luin? Could this actually be him? Thorin Oakenshield, the exiled king of the Longbeard clan. His name echoed through taverns and dwarven streets all the way across Middle-earth, not just for his hereditary title, but for the moniker he had acquired on the battlefield. His fighting prowess was legendary. He gave quite a show of being a king here, looking down his long, straight nose at anyone who dared to steer him in any direction but his own path. The chief of a bunch of boneheaded fools. Gandalf had his hands full with this one.

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!" Oh, yes, he was most certainly popping a blood vessel. Cori settled back behind a pillar and muffled a snicker in her hand. "Your pride will be your downfall. You stand in the presence of one of the few in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond."

The dwarf could actually comprehend reason, because by Yavanna, he did it. Reluctantly, but voluntarily, he handed over the piece of aged parchment he pulled from his tunic. His expression as Elrond studied the markings on it almost made her choke: he most certainly expected the elf to light it on fire or tear it right down the middle.

"Erebor," Elrond spoke aloud in muted surprise. He looked between Gandalf and the dwarves. "What is your interest in this map?"

"It's mainly academic," Gandalf interrupted Thorin before a word could fall from the dwarf's mouth, leaving him to gape in bewilderment. "As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text."

Cori peered through the railing, trying to catch a glimpse of the paper without disclosing her hiding place. Now she was intrigued. An ancient map with mysterious inscriptions only an extremely old, extremely powerful elf could read fell into the hands of a bunch of dwarves. And on it was the Lonely Mountain. Cori had heard the tales of what happened there so many years ago. A shame, really, to lose such a prosperous city to the clutches of a dragon. And all those people killed. She imagined the resentment felt in the hearts of the survivors. Thorin was one of them, she knew. It made sense that he would want to know about a relic that pertained to his lost home; he hoped to gain something from this map--closure, perhaps.

The hobbit was pulled from her musings by an unfamiliar word. Elrond said something in Sindarin, which was helpfully translated by Gandalf afterward as she had not taken the time to learn a bit of the elvish tongue. "Moon runes."

"Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written," Elrond explained. Judging by his change in expression and posture, he had read through Gandalf's lie. Just as it had not escaped Cori's attention, he was also aware that the map fell into a grander scheme than just scholarly curiosity. If he truly felt the need to, he would most certainly discover what Gandalf and the dwarves were keeping under wraps, no matter how wily the wizard tried to be. Having talked at length with the elf lord, Cori was well aware that it would take a great feat to pull the wool over his eyes.

"Miss Houndberry, would you like to contribute to the discovery of the meaning behind these runes?"

A feat a mere hobbit was sorely inadequate at achieving. She sighed, rising from her crouch next to the pillar and making quickly for the nearest staircase. A playful smirk on the elf's face greeted her at the bottom, and she sheepishly returned it. Gandalf just shook his head at her, leveling a scolding look on her. "I thought I recognized that little grey pony of yours in the stables. Now what might you be doing here?"

She squared up, staring right back up at him with a twitch in her nose. "I could ask the same thing about you, Master Gandalf. I've realized over the years that trouble seems to show up where you are."

"Oh, my dear, but I think it's the other way around," he chuckled.

She rolled her eyes. "Right."

"What is the meaning of this, Gandalf?" Cori turned to the tense growl at her left, almost balking at the icy scowl set upon her by crisp blue eyes. She glared back, unsettled but peeved by the animosity toward her that she hardly thought she deserved.

"Cori Houndberry?" Cutting the tension before it could snap explosively, Bilbo stepped out of the shadows with his brow arched in astonishment, as if she had just crawled out of the woodwork. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"And hello to you, too, Bilbo Baggins." The fact that he recognized her was astounding, for she had only interacted with him a handful of times before their meeting in the market in front of the Green Dragon on her way to the Blue Mountains for the first time. She happened to remember faces well, and the Bagginses held some fame throughout the majority of the Shire, even to her former home in Buckland. "My feet are restless, as you know. They tend to take me to the most interesting of places."

"Especially where you should not be." That reprimanding look had returned to the wizard's weathered, wise face.

"Another hobbit?" the old dwarf beside the king said aloud, as if he could not comprehend the very thought of what he was seeing being true. "We've been followed?"

"All this way," Thorin spit out like a bitter taste, reaching for a weapon that did not exist. When he found nothing, he inflated himself until he appeared almost twice the size he was a moment ago. Or he thought he was. Cori, familiar with the impulsive bristling of dwarves, just stared.

"Following you?" she scoffed. "I've never seen you before in my life. And I've been here for almost a week. What is it with you dwarves and your general distrust of _everyone_? Giver, help me."

He was seething now. Only one foot managed to bring him a stride closer to her with all the menace of a porcupine when a swoosh of grey robs cut off her view of him. "Cori did not come from the Shire, Thorin," Gandalf told him firmly. "She is a wanderer of Middle-earth. Most likely, she is passing through, and anything else on her agenda is her business, much as you claim the same."

"Is that so? Then why was I assured this meeting would take place in complete confidence of everyone present, only to have the first passerby listen in on _our business_?"

"If anything, you have witnessed the proficiency of hobbit stealth I have been so adamant to convince you of since the beginning of this journey. Cori is as harmless as a songbird and is not in any way a threat to this quest, I assure you."

"I apologize," Cori finally managed to squeeze in above the slowly-rising voices. She stepped out from behind Gandalf's skirt, hands raised. "I was merely wandering the grounds and stumbled upon you all. I had no idea this meeting was taking place nor that it was so classified. Honestly, I have no idea what you all are talking about, so there's no need to strangle out of me anything I happened to hear. I will leave at once."

"We were about to move this conference elsewhere," Elrond announced, ever the peacemaker amongst rising hackles. "If you wish to speak with Bilbo or Gandalf afterward, you may wait here while we conclude."

Finding the desire to question Bilbo on his sudden rebellious act that echoed the stories of his Tookish mother, Cori nodded. "I think I'll do that, if you don't mind." She sent a quick look toward the sandy-haired hobbit before he left behind Elrond and Gandalf, and he nodded with understanding. Her chin remained tilted upward as a smoldering sneer tried to burn a hole into her face. The other dwarf coaxed Thorin along with mild irritation, successfully pulling the king from his war path. Cori breathed a sigh once they had disappeared around a corner, certain the sizzling of her skin had stopped.

To say her flare of nerves had everything to do with the dwarf's open display of displeasure for her would be speaking in half-truths. Few dwarves had ever caught her female eye and made her take specific notice. For a while, they were all ugly, as it remained in her nature to seek out the companionship of hobbits. As she made her way through her tweens, however, she started to see traits in other races she had not before, and while none of them had ever driven her to act, she would admit to admiring from afar. Thorin Oakenshield was actually handsome. His noble features spoke of his royal ancestry, and his short beard made him an interesting sight amongst his kin. She was taken aback by this revelation, but decided to put it aside. The dwarf was as boorish as they come, and that was something she would not stoop to tolerate, even from a pretty face.

She had no longer to wait than five minutes, sitting on the barrier of the veranda with a beautiful view of the town at night when the group came stomping back through the halls, divested of Elrond. She stepped down to greet Bilbo by the stairs with a quick hug. "What are you doing, Bilbo? Taking off after dwarves? I never thought you had it in you."

He shrugged, shuffling his bare feet nervously. "They are persuasive."

"Bilbo, I gave into that call without hesitation. I know what it is you felt when given the opportunity to leave the Shire in the dust, even if just for a little while. What's propriety to the least respectable hobbit in the whole world?"

He laughed, bobbing his head. "I'll pretend you didn't say that, just like I'll pretend I'm not actually here right now, but back home in Bag End like propriety says I should be. I miss it, Cori Houndberry. There's no leaving Hobbiton in the dust for me."

She smiled, taking the blow with dignity. There was no use denying the truth, and why should she? It was her choice, and she darn well wanted to make a choice for herself for once. "Be careful, Mister Baggins. It's a wide world for a small hobbit. Easy to get lost, and you absolutely don't want that."

"Oh, you don't need to tell me that now. I'll just take assurance in that, if you can survive this long out here, I believe I can do the same."

_You have no idea how many ways I could be dead right now._

Gandalf watched the red-coated hobbit leave to turn in for the night, smiling down at the fur-vested one left. Cori patted his arm. "Take care of him, Gandalf. He'll flounder into more trouble than I could ever conjure up myself without a watchful eye on him."

"You say that as if it hasn't already happened," he replied with a roll of his eyes. He rested a hand on her shoulder. "You do the same, Cori. You've done well for yourself, but I'm sure you're aware that there is no mastering the art of survival. You have many who still care for you and wish only the best for you. Do not let them down."

There was little hope for that, but she reassured him anyway. She longed for the day they would cross paths on the road again, and they could share a fire for a night as they had done a time or two in the past. The shadow hanging over her life seemed to ebb away when Greybeard was near.

The call for a bed had grown harder to ignore, so she crept away to begin her journey back to her chambers to rest up for a long day of riding tomorrow. Before she could completely leave the hall, however, a large hand wrapped around her upper arm and yanked her off course. A rush of air left her chest, and she turned to chew out who had dared to catch her off guard. Dragging her beneath the balcony and through an archway into an abandoned corridor was a flurry of dark hair flowing down a blue tunic. His immovable hand was latched onto her, the harsh bite of a ring digging into her skin through her shirt. Finally, when he seemed satisfied with their privacy, Thorin tossed her to the side. Her back hit the solid stone wall hard, leaving her gasping for more air. Before she could recover, she found herself trapped between a rock and a hard place, two arms undoubtedly corded with muscle trapping her in. His face hung low in front of hers, and he was simmering. "You will not speak a word of what you have heard here tonight," he growled, his hot breath fanning over her face.

She blinked, trying to regain her composure. Slowly, her own ire increased. "No, I thought I'd shout from the rooftops that a group of dwarves were doing dwarvish things, like treasure hunting."

"I am _not_ playing a game here." His nose brushed hers, flaming eyes pinning her to the wall. And quite beautiful eyes they were. "I will not hesitate to take measures of my own to ensure your silence, no matter what the wizard says. Swear you will not say a word to anyone about us."

"You know, you could've asked nicely--"

"Swear it!" he snarled, fist slapping into the stone above her head. She jumped, suddenly very aware of how small she was next to this dwarf who had to bend down to level their faces. _Dwarves do not hurt women_ , she told herself, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.

"I will not tell a soul about your mission, _Your Majesty._ "

He backed off an inch or two. "So you know who I am. Know that a broken oath against me is broken against my people as well. Your name will not be spoken kindly amongst us."

"I have given you my word. Do not count me dishonorable just yet before I can prove myself."

"It would be too late by then." He swept an unreadable, scrutinizing gaze from her face to her boots before settling on her eyes once again. Satisfied, he stepped away, crossing his arms. "I would advise against eavesdropping in the future. Such a habit will not shine on you favorably."

She fought against rolling her eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."

With a final nod, he clenched his fists at his sides and stalked off to rejoin his fellow dwarf, disappearing down the hall. A moment passed before she thought to let out the breath she had been holding. Her fuzzy mind worked to understand what exactly had just happened, returning from the haze preparing her against any danger. But there really was no threat to be had, for he had only the aim to put the fear of Aule into her. The overdramatic dwarf knew just what to do to scare her into compliance. Air puffed from her nose. _The blockheaded dolt._

She dreaded the day she ever met King Thorin Oakenshield again.


	4. In Her Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cori Houndberry left Ereven, dismissed from her service to King Thorin. But what did she leave behind?

**May 7, TA 2943: The day of Cori's departure from Ereven**

Dwalin sprinted as if the tails of his tunic sprouted flames, heart thundering frantically in his chest. He had not felt the lick of shame come over him like this in so long; seeing his king and princes laid out with weeping wounds after being pierced by orc blades a year earlier had yet to leave him even in sleep. Now, once again, he felt the failure tightening in his chest. Mahal’s balls, could he not do his one job correctly?

He passed the stables and thought about grabbing a pony to take off after them; damn the saddle, he could take the assault to his delicate bits. It might be less than what he would get from Thorin. Oh, Durin help him if Dís ever caught wind of it. But he kept going into Barres’s halls, leaping past anyone who happened to be in his path and ignoring the ones who voiced their questions. He had to be quick, before their dust settled.

Add stopping Thorin’s tattered heart to the list of things he would have to answer for upon their return to Erebor, which may end with him demoted, in shackles, or headless, depending on if Thorin still lived after he burst through the door like a maniac and probably startled the poor bloke into a coronary. Yet, what he found on the other side of the door did not coincide with the alarmed and armed warrior he expected. In fact, it was as if Thorin had not even heard him enter: both palms were pressed to the top of his desk and his long hair dangled over his bowed face. “Thorin, we have a problem.”

That did not wake him up either.

“Thorin, the lads have taken off. Sped out of the city, their mounts barely touching the ground, it looked like. I haven’t got a clue what’s possessed ‘em, but they had an agenda.”

All right, he was getting a little peeved. Thorin did not move, the only sign of life being the heavy, yet quiet sigh that lifted his shoulders just a little. He had been out of sorts lately, understandably, but if those two knuckleheads got themselves caught up by Ryone’s men, Thorin might end this trip with a new task: sire an heir, because they would surely bite off more than they could chew.

“Thorin?”

The king sighed again, clenching his fists slowly. When he lifted his head, his hair parted to unveil his face. He looked ready to fall asleep right on the spot, or roll into his grave; Dwalin had never seen him look so old. “So they did it?”

Dwalin cocked his head, not very fond of being the last one to know something, especially when it was those rambunctious, precious pebbles involved. “Did what?”

Thorin pushed the piece of parchment forward on the desk and slowly walked around it, stiff as a spear pole, as if he had just finished with a great battle.

Dwalin lifted the paper to his face, uncomfortably close yet his reading sight had always been a bother. He got through the first line and felt something twist in his gut. _Relieved of sworn duty to the present Company._ Did he dare look down? Of course, he did. The signature was not as official as he was used to seeing, but it was legible. He slammed the paper down on the desk. “You did not.”

“And what did you expect me to do?” Some nerve he had, looking all guilty like that, as if someone had been twisting his arm while he wrote that up.

“You’re the bloody king! You can do whatever you want.” He suddenly realized his heart raced for another reason. Mahal, he had not felt like this the last time she up and took off in Bree. As if something was now missing. It left an ache in the pit of his stomach. “Damn all that poppycock you’ve been spoutin’ about keeping everyone together or, what else was there, saving the lass from getting jumped in an alley? As if anyone would have the stones to do that if you still gave her your favor.”

Thorin stared down at the paper, as if it was the decree that would send him to the chopping block. He looked like one of those toy soldiers that Bofur and Bifur whittled on all the time.

“Forget what you’ve done to the lads,” Dwalin continued, less of the thunderous booming in his voice. “What have you just done to yourself?”

Cold blue eyes shot up to him, and he felt the alarm bells go off in his head. He would take screaming Thorin any day, while he stood in the corner and enjoyed the show with a smirk in his beard. _This_ Thorin, with that little crack forming on his composure but not quite enough to burst out like a broken dam, would scare the living daylights out of him without fail. Those eyes were just too serpent-like. “What do _you_ think I’ve done to myself?”

Dwalin dared not answer. He was being goaded into one, and if he opened his mouth, he might end up on his back. Orcrist stood up on the floor against the corner of the desk, right next to Thorin’s hand (his non-dominant, but he was deadly with both).

“You think I would give so easily to public pressure?” Thorin rumbled, one boot nonchalantly taking a step. “That this is not something _I_ wanted? That it will not benefit _me_? I don’t need to council with traitors. I don’t need a liar in my bed. I can have anyone.”

This looked uncomfortably familiar. A year and a half earlier, a dark throne room, a battle raging outside and in. That had been the moment in Dwalin’s life that he felt the most fear. Not for the warrior that stood before him sending him threats, or the sword that nearly sliced his chin in half. He feared he would never again see the king that he had followed across Middle-earth, that the new “king” would smother him until there was nothing left of his dearest friend. He did not fancy feeling that again.

“You know what I think?” he said, caring little for how his voice cracked. “I think you can’t.”

Just one brow lifted, but it could bring even the strongest man to his knees.

“I don’t think you could have anyone. ‘Cause you haven’t. Not before she came along. Oh, yeah, you tumbled a few times; don’t think I haven’t forgotten that one night in Nord all those years ago, how soused you were and talking up that bar maid like you didn’t already have grey in your hair. But you’ve never chased after anyone. _Never_ put your braid on anyone. And Mahal, Thorin, I’ve never seen you smile so damn much. No, you won’t have anyone else, because you’ll never be satisfied with ‘em. They’re not _her._ ”

There was more emotion on a tree than in that grin. “You seem to know what you’re talking about. _How_ would you know?”

Dwalin shrugged. “I’ve got to be inside your head in a fight, so I don’t get cut off at the shoulders while you’re swinging that blade around. Why can’t I get in it any other time?”

“You couldn’t know.” The lip quivered. It was a snarl. Anger. It was something, and Dwalin could breathe again. “You’ve never felt that. What it’s like to look into the eyes of the one you love as they confess…!” He stopped himself short, twisting his head as if to relieve a cramp in his neck. When he opened his eyes again, they were dull. “I have done what’s best for us all. If you can’t see that, then it is a good thing you are not king, for you would, as you said, do whatever you want. I would ask you not to question my judgment again. I have never felt my thoughts clearer.” He turned back to his desk, flipping a dismissive hand in the air without a word.

Dwalin took it and the oddly collected glimmer in those eyes and stomped out of the room. There was nothing else to be said in there. Anything more would throw oil on the fire.

For once, his steady hands trembled slightly, just a little in the fingers, but enough to feel the twitches. He _hated_ that. _Hated_ that his mind withdrew from all other thoughts while standing in front of that desk. It was the same thing that happened when he was getting ready for a battle. He would focus on nothing but the threat. His subconscious mind had to tell his body to be ready to defend itself in there, and it disgusted him. But Thorin was unpredictable when…

Mahal, what would happen if the lass was actually nipped? If she died, and was not just wandering out in the world?

That would be the end of his king.

 

             ***************************

**May 11, TA 2943**

They had to be following her tracks. There was not a doubt in Fíli’s mind.

“They look fresher every day!” Kíli called to him over the sound of the wind and their ponies’ hooves as they cantered down the slope. Fíli lost sight of the round shapes in the dirt a few times, but he knew the other would find it again. Kíli was always the better hunter. “You think we’re gaining on her?”

It was too early to tell. There had been no rain for days, and the mountainsides were unusually quiet where one would normally hear the rustle of the breeze in the trees. Nothing to disturb the tracks. But she only had a day on them, maybe less. They should have caught up with her by now.

They reined their ponies in at a stream; they had just crossed the Lune not too long ago, and this had to branch off from it. Fíli had a moment of panic when they could not find her tracks on the other side of the river, but they were able to pick up the trail again. Now, as they stood at the edge of the forest and looked out into the grassy knolls in front of them, he realized that they may have rejoiced a little too soon.

Kíli snarled through his teeth. “There’s too much grass over there. It would have cushioned Shadow’s hooves and reduced the impact of his prints.” He turned to his brother. “Do you think this path was deliberate?”

“Why would she want to try to hide her direction?” The thought had crossed his mind. Maybe she knew they were behind her, and she was running. The only reason for that would be if she thought it was possibly soldiers and not them. Why would she run from them? “It’s obvious where she’s going.”

Kíli’s dark brow folded inward. “Where?”

“Home. The Shire. She’s going to her family.”

The younger prince frowned. “Didn’t she say their relationship with her wasn’t the best?”

Fíli urged his pony into the stream. “If you want to traipse all over Middle-earth trying to find one girl, you’re welcome to it. We have to have somewhere to start, and in my strongest opinion, I don’t think the Shire’s a bad place look for a hobbit.”

Kíli sighed, but he followed nonetheless, trotting on after his brother through the water.

                 ******************

**June 19, TA 2943**

Forty-three days.

Thorin stared at the parchment on his desk before him, recounting in his head to make sure he was accurate. Yesterday was forty-two, he recalled. A dark day it had been; one interruption after another kept him from drowning it in the full barrel sitting on one end of his chambers. He had decided already, he thought bitterly to himself. On day thirty, he would stop. What did it gain him but a splitting head in the morning? A few hours of dull nothingness?

The Sons of Durin did not run from their troubles. They solved them.

Yet, a moment of peace seemed to be a worthy solution. At least it would get him to sleep at night before he had a chance to ponder the cold blankets. So, somehow, it had kept on.

As for today, early morning brought him news from ravens that would require him to be of a clearer mind than usual, if he hoped for things to go well. He was surprised. He expected the wizard to show up long before now. The old man had a nose for when the worst trouble seemed to be brewing. With that in mind, Thorin contemplated whether it was good or bad that Gandalf had arrived at last. He leaned toward the latter; Gandalf would castigate him on all his decisions, even if all others were impossible, just so he could criticize Thorin later on his “stubbornness.” He usually had the best intentions when doing so; Thorin was in no mood for games.

Three knocks rattled the door of his chambers: his summoning.

He ground his teeth and pushed the full cup aside without taking a drink from it, rising unsteadily to his feet. His old wounds ached fiercely, unusual for summertime. He was starting to believe it had always been there. Likely, it was suppressed by whatever task he had taken on at the moment, which were numerous in Erebor, so by the time he could actually focus on it, he could brush it off as the toils of the day coming back on him. He was no longer young, after all. He still had plenty to think about, but his mind tended to betray him nowadays, and in his endeavor to persuade it toward things that needed his immediate attention, he ended up with blank thoughts. And so he noticed the pain.

He let it have its way with him, shuffling his feet along the floor so his knees did not bend. When he drew his cloak around him, the shoulder of his sword arm twitched uncomfortably. He felt it, but he did not wince. With his sword hanging down his back, he headed for the door.

His back straightened, his chin rose, and his legs gained energy. It was false, involuntary. But there would be eyes on him when he left his chambers.

He kept his gaze forward as he marched through Lord Barres’s halls to the council room where Gandalf would have been sent to wait for him. Those along his way kept their own gazes to themselves; they had learned it best after…forty-three days. The guards opened the door as he marched through. As expected, the grey-robed wizard leaned against the wide oak table, impatient fingers drumming on the top. “Gandalf,” Thorin greeted, relieved that his voice sounded normal, if scratchy with disuse; no one would question it with what was going on.

“They will not do it,” Gandalf immediately barked, not even meeting Thorin’s eyes before he began pacing the floor and mumbling to himself. Thorin stopped and arched a brow, feeling a spark of amusement at the sight. “And neither will Lord Elrond, for certain. Of all the times they are needed the most.”

Why did he not anticipate this? With the wizard came the talk of council with elves. Thorin should have brought his ale with him. “The harbor, you mean?”

Gandalf sighed, finally looking to the dwarf with a frustrated twitch in his lip. “They are too few, they say. Many of their residents have recently sailed. What remains will be needed to guard their city. It will be a while before they have enough soldiers to spare. As of right now, we are stuck.” He sniffed. However, with his rant over and done, he seemed to finally look at the king. “You do not fare well in these times, my friend.”

Thorin waved him off. “I am fine.” He hoped it was Gandalf’s close familiarity with him that gave him away; he could not possibly be so obvious. “And, to be honest, I hadn’t put much hope in your endeavor. I’ve decided on a plan already.”

Gandalf cocked his head inquisitively, interrupted by the door squeaking open once more. In came Fíli and Kíli, both giving the wizard an amicable smile. Unsurprisingly, they drifted away when they noticed who else occupied the room. Kíli was solemn, though attempting to school his face into impassiveness. Fíli greeted him the usual way: piercing blue eyes above a clenched jaw; according to Dwalin, an exact replica of Thorin. The lad had been livid for a month. “What’s going on?” Kíli asked, depleted of his boundless energy.

“Gandalf is hearing about our plans for the enemy,” Thorin explained. “We will meet them on the field of battle.”

Though unpleased he may have been, the wizard did not look at all surprised. “Did you not hear what I just said? The elves will not help. The Rangers are circling the Shire trying to keep the orcs out, and we yet do not know if the Men of the South are even aware of what’s going on. You will be entirely alone against a force greater than Annúminas.”

Thorin frowned. “How greater?”

“I estimated the numbers there to be nearing two hundred, but those were only the men posted to guard him. Where we have been watching him in his little hole in the northern hills of Evendim, he has gathered an army. The scouts from Mithlond reported numbers nearing seven hundred have shown up already, and more are still coming in from the wilderness, crawling out of the ground like ants. He is calling his entire following to him, we believe, which means he aims to strike soon.”

Thorin huffed a humorless laugh. “We have more than five hundred dwarves from across Ered Luin pledging their swords and axes to the cause. We do not need to outnumber them. We just need to be stronger, and we are.”

Gandalf threw his hands in the air. “It’s as if you haven’t fought these Men already, Thorin! Like you do not recall how dangerous and skillful they are! In this instance, I do believe having the greater advantage in numbers will be the tipping point of this war, and right now, it is leaning in his favor.”

“Last I checked, _Tharkûn,_ this was not your war. It was mine, and I will fight it how I see fit to fight it. Have I not been doing so since reaching my battle age?” He glanced toward his nephews, somewhat suspicious of their quietness. They both watched Gandalf for his reaction. Neither one had had any objections to the plan when Thorin first presented it to Barres, Dwalin, and the rest of the officials of Ereven. Any mention of Ryone’s name had them simmering with suppressed rage. Their hatred for the Man overcame their extreme dislike of Thorin at the moment, or so he concluded to explain why they had not tried to refute him like on every other matter.

The old wizard peered around the room with his bright eyes, openly looking for something in particular. Thorin tensed. “I would have expected our little hobbit to be poking her nose in by now. Where is she?”

Thorin took in a long breath and clenched his teeth as hard as he could without making it obvious in his voice. “She has left.”

Gandalf whipped his gaze toward him, weathered brow creasing. “Left? Why?”

“We thought you might have seen her,” Kíli said, the evidence of dashed hope on his face. “And known where she was.”

“Uncle sent her away,” came Fíli’s haughty, indignant reply, the first thing he spoke since entering the room.

The room grew still. Thorin kept his gaze on the wall. He would not look down, even beneath the fiery stare that now settled on him. Before any words could be said, he growled, “You will not scold me like a child for a decision I deemed necessary and had full authority to make.”

Gandalf sniffed again. “No, I will not. But I will advise you to consider your motives when performing those decisions. Will it truly bring about what you desire, or will it only make things worse?”

The disgruntled gaze of his oldest nephew fell onto the side of his face. Now this was where Fíli lost all decorum required of him when referring to his king in the presence of others. When the boys returned from their scouting mission, and Thorin got a glimpse of how resentful his heir could be, Thorin tried rebuking him for it. The first moment he and Fíli were alone afterward, he ended up with a knife in his face. He cowardly chose not to aggravate the subject again, wishing he never had to see such hatred for him in the boy’s eyes ever again.

Thorin ground his teeth. “I don’t see how it could make things worse.”

He had the audacity to snort, and if Thorin had not the inherent keen hearing of the Khazad, he would not have heard the short “right in front of me” grumbled afterward. Anything else he had to say stayed within his mouth as the doors unexpectedly rumbled open. Thorin glared at it; no one else had been allowed at this meeting. However, through the door came not an insolent servant trying to convince him that something else needed his attention at the moment, but a young boy of Men. He had a green cloak drawn around his shoulders, on which sat long black curly hair damp with sweat. His clothes were ragged from the road. A Ranger. “Your Majesty, King Thorin. I sincerely apologize for the interruption, but there is urgent news.”

Gandalf seemed more interested in what the boy had to say than Thorin did, but he gestured for him to continue anyway.

“The Shire has been attacked, and it was done by the followers of the Rohan man.”

“What?” Fíli and Kíli demanded simultaneously.

Thorin tried not to jolt from the clench in his heart.

“Are you certain of this?” Gandalf was as white as the streaks in his hair and beard.

The Ranger nodded. “Eight days ago. I left as soon as they were eradicated or driven off. But the damage…” He shifted his eyes toward his feet and shook his head. He looked to be sick at any moment. “I don’t know how far it spread, but the places that I saw were almost completely demolished. Houses burned, and their little holes were caved in. Crops were destroyed, and there were many lying dead.”

“How did this happen?” Thorin snarled. Had the Rangers not been guarding nearly every inch of the border around the Shire?

“They drew us away from the northern border. Orcs had begun forming in the marshland to the south, and most of us were sent to create a blockade against a potential invasion. It was too late before we found out it was a diversion. They slipped by our minimal scouts through the woods and boated down the rivers. We chased them through the night and into the next day, but not before they had the chance to leave destruction in their wake.”

“They were not prepared,” Gandalf mumbled, gnarled hands wringing at his staff and sword hilt.

“Somewhat,” the Ranger reassured. “We warned them about the orcs a week before the attack. We hardly expected anything to happen but for windows to be boarded and doors locked in places that they usually weren’t. But something started on the eastern side of the Baranduin, Buckland. The hobbits began practicing with weapons, and they sent teachers to different places all across the Shire to give others instruction on how to defend themselves. The men couldn’t stop talking about it. Seemed an unprecedented feat.”

The princes shared a look, wide eyed and hopeful. They appeared to come to the same conclusion with the flicker of a smile. Thorin had a clue what it was, and in spite of himself, he would bet a great sum that they were right.

“I must go,” Gandalf said, suddenly even more urgent than he was before. With a sharp snap of his neck, he turned a glare toward Thorin. “I beg of you, Thorin, son of Thráin. Do not bring unnecessary heat upon your people. Not when there are ways to avoid the bloodshed.”

Thorin’s lips twitched. “We have tried those ways, and they have not worked for us so far. We are running out of time, and so we are left with few options. I will do what I must. Now go to them.”

There was more fight left in the wizard, but very little drive to remain where his word was not welcome, not when other places called his most immediate attention. With a forceful sigh, he saw himself out of the room after tapping his staff on the table for the signal toward the guards outside. Thorin had not counted on anything he did to be of any use, as resourceful as the wizard was. He needed no more proof that the dwarves were in this alone, like always.

“Your Majesty, there’s something else you should know.”

The king did not like the solemn undertone of the boy’s voice. “And that is?”

He swallowed thickly before continuing. “Am I incorrect in assuming that you’ve been the acquaintance of a young hobbit girl recently?”

He felt the squeeze on his heart again. _Can I not have two minutes of peace_? “What of it?”

“Cori?” Kíli jumped in, frantic eyes searching the face of the Ranger. “Cori Houndberry? Dark hair, red scarf tied in a band across the top of her head?”

He nodded. “She had a fur hat when I first saw her. And a little bow she kept over her shoulder.”

“How do you know her?” Kíli asked.

“Back in January, she stayed in our camp for a night, just south of the Shire. Asked if we had seen you come through, and when we told her we had, we sent her on her way the next morning. I assumed she caught up with you, since we heard that a hobbit had been with an army of dwarves heading north toward the Hills of Evendim from the Shire.”

“Where is she?” Fíli pressed, his hands shaking.

His brow pinched uneasily, and he gripped the sword at his side. “I saw her a little over two weeks ago, on a farm in Buckland. Her family’s, I presumed. I was part of the group going through that area, warning the hobbits of the orcs in the south. I hardly recognized her, wearing a dress like her kin with dirt smudged on her face from digging in a field, but a young hobbit, let alone a lass, traveling by herself is not something one sees often, so I recalled her well.”

Thorin took slow, measured breaths. Never had he seen her in a dress befitting the style of the Shire, but it was as clear in his head as if he were looking at a painting. He thought of her cheeks dusted with dirt and the rosy tinge they seemed to take on when she was warmed, wrapped in hers and his furs at night. He fought a smile, causing ache in his jaw. Where else would she be but in the fields of her childhood, the ones she talked endlessly about?

Then he remembered what the Ranger described to them only moments ago, and his head jerked up.

He looked genuinely distressed. “I returned there in the midst of the battle. It was dark, and it was chaos. But she was not with her family. After I defended them from the attackers, I searched throughout the town, as I assumed she had gone off to fight. I looked everywhere I could get to, but I did not see her once, in…any shape. It is presumptuous of me, but…”

“She would have stayed with them,” Kíli murmured, looking down at his feet. “She wouldn’t have left them undefended.”

“He took her!” Fíli snarled, fists loudly banging on the tabletop. “He’s got her, with Mahal knows what planned. We should have begged the Rangers to let us through. Or broken through. Or…something! Now…!”

The words of his kin faded out of Thorin’s hearing as he left the room and marched down the hall. He took the now familiar path to his chambers, hardly thinking about where his feet stepped. No encounters occurred. He slipped inside the door and locked it, feeling the strength leaving his legs. He blindly felt for a chair and sat in it heavily. The dizziness abated, but his chest ached with each shallow breath. They would not cease, the thoughts, and his hand gripped the arm of the chair.

It was senseless to take the word of the Ranger at face value, to let his own fears become Thorin’s fears. He had no evidence. He did not see her in “any shape.” There was every possibility she had not been there at the beginning of the battle, but elsewhere. Safe. Unaware. It was the most likely explanation.

But the visions assaulted him still, and he bit into his lip until he tasted the copper tang. She was in the dirt of the garden, but not happily digging in it with a smile and the flush of the day’s heat on her face. She lay in it, her blood soaking the earth beneath her and her dress. It was an arrow in her chest. The stunning, bright blues of her eyes had faded, and she stared sightless into the sky. He shook his head with a feral snarl, riled further by the tickling of his hair on his neck and face. _It did not happen. He found nothing. It cannot be._

But it was possible.

That alone was enough, and he choked on a sob. Tears fell rapidly from his bent face; he had no idea how long they had been going. He could not breathe, as if something sat upon his chest and pressed down harder. There was so much pain. Not that of the orc’s blade piercing his skin through his leathers and mail on the frozen lake. It was different, and so sharp. A thought came to him briefly: he could die from this.

His unsteady legs lifted him out of the chair and carried him swiftly to the wall. His teeth bared and a roar ripping out of his throat, he threw his fist against the stone. His arm jarred from the impact and his knuckles split open immediately, but he did not feel the bones break. It raised his ire. He wanted the pain of it, the distraction from the tearing of something he had never felt before inside of him.

_Look how low you’ve come. Breaking your own body._

He cried out a demand for the voice to leave, striding back across the room to grab the chair and hurl it against the wall. He did not see it hit, but he heard the sound of the wood splintering. He needed more of it. He had not heard that voice in so long.

_Had you not decided that you finally saw sense_?

“What sense?!” He kicked the leg of the table, watching it crumble and spill everything out onto the floor. He grabbed the tankard of ale off his desk and threw it into the fire. “There was no _sense_ in what I did! No sense! No fairness!”

_Fairness for who? Yourself, or her?_

“I sent her to die!” he shouted into the middle of the room, and his legs finally gave out. He dropped to his knees, and his bleeding hand stung on impact with the cold stone. His body jolted and quaked, exhausted and cold and everything ached like an infected wound splitting open. His choked breaths were quiet, but they brought no relief.

You fool, he thought. She might still be alive. But she might not. And he would be at fault. His dismissal would have been the last memory she held of him as she…And suddenly, a world without her in it seemed like the most terrifying thing he had ever faced. He sat back on his legs, arms dangling limply in front of him, and he cried for the injustice he had done to her. For the loss of her warmth against his side at night. For being so close to forgetting what her laugh sounded like. For all the lies and deceit that had torn them apart, committed by each of them. And were Mahal to appear in front of him now, he would remain as he was, press his forehead into the floor, and beg until he was hoarse for another chance.

_She was a fancy. A vague interest. A momentary escape from this wretched life you’ve led._

“I wanted to marry her.” He took in a sharp breath, the truth of his words cutting into his chest worse than any vile creature’s hooked appendage ever could. “I want to marry her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple people asked for it, so here it is.


	5. The Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding night of Thorin and Cori

**July 25 TA 2946: The marriage of King Thorin II of Erebor to Cori Houndberry of Buckland**

There was change coming. The warning floated in the stuffy, warm air of the dining hall where the wedding reception continued on well into the night. For a while, nobody wanted to pay attention to it and the hint of foreboding it brought. As the evening commenced, however, and everyone dove into the festivities with the luster befitting a royal wedding, it became clear that the idea of change created no fear. As the kingdom watched their new royal couple dance to the lively music beneath the shimmering chandeliers and almost approving gaze of their onlookers, staring into each other’s eyes like the mightiest wealth of the world lay in them, there was a sense of enthusiasm for what lay ahead.

Cori could not see passed the night. Rather, she chose not to. It seemed wrong to waste the precious moments of her own wedding with base apprehensions about tomorrow. But then again, she really had no idea what specific things she should feel. There was no way someone could prepare themselves for something like that. She had plenty of time to contemplate her decision, and gave her chilly booted feet a stern talking-to before she actually stepped out into the hall and walked next to Thorin toward the pedestal where they gave their lives to each other. Enough indecision. She was the happiest she had ever been, and that was enough direction to go by.

Thorin made a splendid speech in her honor, promising good fortune for Durin’s folk in the future, but with a few glasses of wine slinking their way through her blood, all Cori saw was how massive the fur mantel made his shoulders look and how the red drink had colored his lips deliciously. Thorin released everyone to continue the celebration, and most likely, it would have the endurance to go strong into the morning. It was made very clear, much to Cori’s delight, that the newly-wedding couple was not expected to hang around any longer.

With the noise of the celebration far behind them, their short stroll to their chambers was peaceful and unhurried. They walked silently, little fingers linked together, as they made their way to their bedchambers. Cori grinned up at him, content to let him lead her the rest of the way while she admired him in his decadent attire just a little more. She discovered that he had been watching her, a blissful smile nestled within his neatly-trimmed beard, braided into one strand down to his collar bones. He had fixed his hair in a complicated, unfamiliar pattern: several plaits pulled back the black and silver around his face, including one big one on top. Each one weaved into each other to form a thick rope down the back of his head, the rest of his loose hair scattered across his shoulders. His heavy crown looped around it all.

The moment she saw him in the antechamber just before the ceremony, she stopped and stared for a full minute, much to his amusement. Such majesty and strength. She wanted all of it off of him.

The guards posted at the top of the staircase leading into the Royal Halls made way for them, offering their own congratulations to the pair. Thorin produced the key to their chambers from his jacket pocket, casting a sultry look back at her as the lock clicked open. She snickered, suddenly very proud of her self-control: her awareness of the guards down the way kept her from pushing him into the door and convincing him that he had every reason not to drag this out any longer.

But then again, he already knew that.

A maid had tended to their chambers during the celebration, making it ready for their arrival and the unspoken prospect of a week-long reprieve. Both fireplaces crackled and flickered pleasantly, as did a variety of candles placed throughout the parlor, bedchambers, and bath. The glow was warm and cozy. Two bottles of her favorite of Dale’s finest vineyards, gifts from King Bard, sat on a table just inside the bedchambers, a matching set of new goblets beside them. The curtains had been drawn on the left and front side of the massive bed so that only the side facing the fireplace was open. Her personal request. Their raccoon pelt, washed and fluffed, laid across the duvet, right where it should have been. Thorin led her in, stopping at the foot of the two steps leading up to the bed.

“Would you like to call for a bath, my love?” His voice was tender and smooth, daring not to break the mood of the room. He turned to face her, stepping close but keeping contact only at their fingers.

“Later,” she murmured, rising on her toes to kiss the tip of his regal, pointed nose. “When we actually need it.”

His eyes darkened just a hair.

The general direction this night was to proceed was obvious. That was not the question. The challenge was deciding how, because Cori had to make it memorable. They spent nearly every single night since her arrival to the East in each other’s arms and exploring every single method of pulling the most pleasure out of the other. It was never boring, very adventurous, but there seemed to be nothing different to try. Certainly, the nature of the night could not make this like any regular occasion. But she was stumped, and frustrated.

“I don’t suppose you’ll need any more wine,” he suggested, lips a breath from hers.

“Are you stalling, my king? Am I that revolting tonight?”

He grinned, eyes glancing down toward her dress. “You are captivating. Resplendent. Bewitching. And I have never wanted you more.”

She smiled patiently, leaning into the touch of his hand to her cheek. “But…”

“No criticism of you, dear one. I’m in no rush tonight.”

She scoffed, turning to ascend the stairs. “Says you.” The heavy velvet dress hanging off her small body clung to her skin over the layer of sweat, and she decided to go ahead and figure out how to start peeling it off without destroying it. A bath might not have been such a bad idea after all. As her fingers worked down the buttons on the front, a pair of arms appeared around her waist and finished off the last two. “I feel like I’m standing in the forges right now. Can you give me two seconds to breathe?”

“I thought you were in a hurry.” He pulled the two halves of the dress around her, haphazardly tossing it onto the bed. The whiskers of his mustache brushed the exposed skin of her neck at the collar of her tunic. She hummed and turned her head just a little. His lips were pleasantly soft, brushing from behind her ear down to her shoulder. Her spine tingled. Then he gave her a small nip just below her jaw, and she gasped.

“We have all night,” she conceded, wishing he would never stop doing that.

“Indeed.”

Cori had no plans to sleep while darkness sat outside their slant windows. How well those plans worked out depended on if Thorin had anything extravagant planned. It was difficult to think about putting a twist to their usual coupling if he sweetly made love to her or catered to her wild, passionate neediness whenever she desired it of him. She might have had to just be content with the giddy little thought in the back of her mind that this night would see their marriage consummated. The beginning of a lifetime at Thorin’s side. That was something quite special certainly.

His warm presence against her disappeared, and she watched him with a wistful smile as he walked off toward his wardrobe to dispense his extravagant cloak. He set his crown on its usual pedestal along the way, and the firelight glimmered off the smooth metal in it. An empty pillow sat beside it. She was secretly excited about attaining her own crown, whatever daunting responsibilities came with it. Thorin assured her that it was in the works (overseen by himself personally), and that whenever it was finished, she would receive it at her own coronation. She had at least a week to prepare herself for that.

Stripped of the rest of her many layers, down to her under tunic and knickers, Cori laid her garments aside at her wardrobe and returned to the bed. Smiling with anticipation for the pleasure of lying down on top of that silky fur, she yanked her tunic up over her head and quickly rid herself of the final piece of linen on her body. Though the mountain remained slightly chillier than she would have liked, even in summer, Thorin made sure their rooms were heated to her satisfaction. She was perfectly comfortable walking around as she was, much to his gratification. Leaning against one of the bed posts, she watched her handsome dwarf remove his own coverage.

The braids in his hair now undone left it slightly disheveled, some strands curled tighter than others, and she flexed her fingers with the desire to bury her hands in the rick thickness of it, unhindered by its constraints. His beard, however, remained in its twist, the shiny gold clasp at the end replaced with a simple leather strip. Cori considered rectifying that; she enjoyed threading her fingers through the coarse curls just as much as every other furry part of his body. She eyed his ink markings as they worked across his skin, flexing with the movement of his muscles, and she pressed her thighs together. She had never before desired to taste them as she did then. When he had removed everything down to his trousers, he finally turned back to the bed. His eyes immediately darted down to her nakedness, and his tongue flicked across his lips. When his gaze returned to her face, his eyes were nearly black. “I’ll try not to complain about being deprived of the pleasure of unwrapping you myself. For nothing I’m looking at is anything to complain about.”

“I would think not. Isn’t having everything presented for you a pleasure by itself?”

“ _Khajimele,_ you have no idea.” He climbed the stairs and stood before her. He loomed over her, bending down until their noses brushed. His hot palm slipped around her waist and into the dip of her back, and they kissed for the first time since the end of their dance. It was mild and undaring, but its sweetness drove a thrilling surge of affection into her heart. The dwarf, rough around the edges—at least that was the pretense he gave to those he ruled over—mastered the art of wooing without a hitch. Then again, he tended to excel in everything he delved into. Maybe Cori was just goo beneath his attentions.

The fingers of his one hand drew circles on her skin, tracing the dent of her spine, then slid up to fist the mat of braids twisted around her own head. She groaned into his mouth at the yank to her already aching head, scrunching her nose. “One more plait, and I was going to chop it all off.”

He hissed as if he were the one in pain, raising both hands to pick the pins from her head. “I want nothing sharp near your sumptuous and wild curls. A threat to them is a threat of bodily harm to you.”

She snickered, humming as the braids finally untwisted. She dropped her head back as he shoved his fingers into her loose, unruly hair, massaging her scalp. His mouth settled on her throat, placing several kisses along her jaw before deciding on a spot to suck a mark onto. She brought her hands to his chest, scraping her nails through the dark hair. He sighed loudly, looping an arm around her back and pulling her close again. The abrasive surface against her sensitive breasts forced a shiver through her body, and she rubbed herself against him to feel more of it. Her tiny hands worked their way out of the cage, squeezing the delightfully firm flesh of his arms. The muscles in his shoulders, usually tense from the strain of whatever task had been thrust unwelcomed onto him that day, were actually relaxed, loosening even more beneath her touch. If she had her way, he would be free of knotted muscles for the remainder of their time alone together.

She pulled her head from his grasp and sought out his lips once again, drawing him into a long kiss before digging her teeth into his lower pout. “What do you want from me tonight, love?”

It was all part of their endeavor for more honesty and openness between them. Neither of them had a particular habit of offering up their deepest thoughts to the other. It required a conscious effort, but the air of the night seemed light and inviting for such a thing. She looked up into his eyes lidded with desire and brushed her thumb over his swollen lips.

For some reason, she expected a snarky comment featuring the obvious, but his smile was tender. “I will take anything from your heart that you are willing to give me. No expectations.”

“I have nothing left. You took it all.” She gave him a peck and slid out of his grasp. She hopped up onto the bed, pleased with the comfort she expected, and lay back. “I meant how do you want your wife?”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, his expression completely contradictory to his words. “If you say right now that you want to crawl under the sheets and sleep until mid-morning, I will be confused, but I will agree. You lead.”

“I’m trying to gather your thoughts, you oaf. It’s not just about me.”

He shrugged rather casually, leaning on the bed with both arms braced on either side of her. “I haven’t really spent much time considering the tone of my wedding night. Clearly, you have.”

She figured he would be difficult.

“Are you trying to suggest something odd?” he asked with a smirk.

“Maybe we could pretend this is our first time,” she sighed, stretching her legs out and widening them just a little. His glittering eyes settled right between them. “And that I am a maiden, as I should be.”

He chuckled, meeting her teasing gaze as he slid on top of her. His warm hands glided up the outsides of her thighs, over her hips, and finally settled beneath her, palms pressed to her back. He leaned over and kissed the side of her knee. “Now you have me curious about your first time, though I would much rather not think about somebody else enjoying my wife while we recline in our marital bed.”

“Who said it was enjoyable?” Her nose crinkled. She only remembered the lad’s face, and how he seemed particularly talented with his mouth. The actual coupling was a disaster, complete with a drunk relative of his stumbling into their room in the Green Dragon right in the middle of it. She smiled despite herself. Tween exploration was quite an experience.

“Apparently you thought so.” He actually grumbled, and Cori laughed aloud at how easily she forgot the rampant jealousy of dwarves.

“Don’t you remember your first time fondly? I suppose that was an age ago, though, so I doubt you can recall every detail.”

His response was a sharp bite to her hipbone that would bruise by morning, and she threw her head back with a guffaw again. “Dwarves remember what’s worth remembering very well.”

She had to give it to him that he probably had enough respect for his prior partners to remember them at least a little, whether or not he actually put any emphasis on milestones like that. Cori had been terrified to do it, but only because the Shire thought so highly of the act. Once it was done, she felt better about it. That never stopped her from holding it in a slightly more reverent light than a lot of people did.

“And no matter how we proceed tonight…” He looked up from scattering slow, feathery kisses below her navel. His eyes were soft. “…I will remember every detail even as I step into Aulë’s halls.” He rose up, straightening his arms until he hovered right above her. His nose brushed the tip of hers, and she was completely curtained by his hair. “How would _you_ like me?”

He knelt there, at her beck and call, and she knew he would do whatever she asked him to. And he would enjoy it just as much as she did. She would make sure of that.

Slowly, she untied the laces of his breeches, holding his stare. She pushed them down his thighs as far as she could reach, unable to resist a quick look down when he finished. When he returned, she lifted her legs and locked them around the backs of his thighs, linking her ankles securely. He automatically lowered just a little, and she tightened her hold. The hot, solid length she so far had neglected in favor of dreamily romantic gestures pressed against her inner thigh, and the smoldering fire in her belly sprang to life. She slid her arms around the back of his neck, grabbing fistfuls of his impressive locks, and gingerly kissed his lips.

“Love me sweetly, my king.”

She said the right words, according to the adoring smile he presented, eyes boring heavily into hers despite her bareness right in front of him for which he so openly had fondness. They darkened, hardly anything left of the bright blues that were so prominently among those with his blood. When he leaned down and kissed her again, it was a perfectly appropriate response to her request. He shifted his weight, and one hand skimmed down her ribs and firmly grasped onto her hip, changing the angle just a little. She partly anticipated that he would slip right in like he belonged. Mahal only knew her body desperately wished he would.

But he merely rocked against her, pulling a groan from them both. He did it again, a reflex that she guessed he may not have had control over, and kissed her fervently. She grasped his shoulder, suddenly dizzy with the flash of heat that seared through her right down to her curled toes. When he nipped her lower lip, she let him in, feeling drunk off the ale he partook in earlier along with the wine. Just enough to get that delightful buzz, he told her. Alcohol had been a major hindrance in their relationship so far, and he wanted the day to be perfect. But the bitterness of the drink was lost in the equally intoxicating taste of his mouth. She could almost enjoy it rather than stomach it like usual.

With one final peck, he dipped down beneath her jaw. She felt his teeth only slightly pinch her skin, then his tongue that soothed it right afterward, and she sighed. He moved down a little further, drawing a line along her shoulder and coming back just as slowly. She curled her fingers into his shoulder and back, certainly leaving marks where her nails were, but neither of them noticed. She could hardly breathe, and while pushing some of his weight off her was guaranteed to rectify that, somebody would have to pry him away before she let go.

He moved down farther still, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her collar bones, moving down between her breasts, leaving a trail of red from the scratch of his beard. He kissed her navel, putting a little tongue in to make her giggle, then scraped his teeth through the patch of hair just below that. Cori forced herself to stay still and enjoy it, holding onto the thick arms that had returned to cradling her. One leg laid across his lower back, though, making sure he stayed still and considered no escape plans for whatever senseless reason. When his nose brushed against the inside of her thigh, she made no attempt to suppress a moan. “Unnecessary,” she murmured. She needed no preparation tonight, as enticing as the idea was.

“I know what I want,” he growled back, his eyes briefly flickering up to catch hers beneath his heavy brow. “You, my dear, have trouble deciding.”

She halfheartedly kicked his hip. “Am I not allowed to change my mind?” Maybe giving him permission to take his time was not a very thought-out plan after all. She just wanted to scream.

“You’re fortunate I’m flexible,” he said, his breath soft against her damp curls, and she clenched with a gasp.

No. She would not give in. Her impulsiveness pestered her, and his chivalry only masked the frustration he felt with her. This was where it ended. So, she twisted her fingers into his hair, gripping loosely, and let him get to work.

The first bold swipe of his tongue made her see stars. The coarse hairs on his face tickled and scratched, intensifying what was already an attack on every nerve in her body. She opened one eye and lifted her head just a little, releasing a small moan amid the frantic panting. What a sight, the king’s head between her thighs. Then his eyes locked onto hers, just as he took the little nub between his lips, and her head flew to the duvet as her back arched. “Thorin.”

He growled, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs, as if she had somewhere else to be. He intensified at her urging, listening intently to her cries for anything new to learn. His own breathing was shallow and rapid. A pleased sound rumbled out of him every so often. He enjoyed her satisfaction, and she wanted to give him more of it. But her fingers were lost in his long locks, and her trembling arms did not allow her to disentangle them. She only loosened one enough to run a finger along the shell of his ear, and his small jolt yanked her into a hot release. All the air left her lungs as the scorching pulses rippled through her body.

A moment passed. Or maybe a few. When she opened her eyes, chest heaving and arms thrown above her head, she found the lust-darkened stare of an amused dwarf hovering over her. He surprisingly made no comments about the expressions she had no control over, as he usually did, but instead leant down and kissed her. “You didn’t sound inconvenienced,” he murmured against her cheek.

She snorted, clacking her teeth at his nose just as he pulled it out of range. “Just you wait, dwarf. As soon as I can feel my arms, you’re getting it.”

He chuckled, tongue gliding over his lips, and she almost groaned from the sheer lewdness of it. “I surrender.”

“You know what’s good for you, then.” She flinched when his finger barely brushed her folds, and it was time to decide how much longer she wanted to drag this out.

 _A whole night,_ echoed through her mind. And a week after that. There were no limits.

She took a careful hold of the braid woven into his beard and tugged him back down. As soon as they met in a kiss, she pressed harder. Her breaths came heavier, heart pounding in anticipation for what was to come. He responded in kind, rolling his thumbs into the soft flesh of her waist. The control and ease with which he held his suspended position over her drove her into a sensuous frenzy. His strength amazed her, and gave her peace of mind, but in such moments as the present, she appreciated the display of absolute control from someone capable of lifting boulders. A hot wave rushed over her body, and she locked him against her with her legs.

“ _Khajimele,_ ” he muttered in her ear, nibbling on her neck. He asked for confirmation: his body trembled against hers from the strain of waiting. She suddenly wanted nothing for herself. Not anymore. He begged for her without words, and she needed to give him that release that he craved and had so far denied himself. He had been prepared to go right to sleep, if that was what she desired, and she believed every word he said.

The luck of this city, gifted with such a gracious, selfless king. And her with an exceptional husband.

She stretched her arm between their bodies, as snugly fit as they were, and wrapped her fingers around his member still pinned against her thigh. He groaned and bucked, air hissed between his gritted teeth. One firm stroke was all she managed, and his entire body tensed as rigidly as a rock. He waited for her next move, huffing into her neck and sliding one hand down to grip her knee pressed to his hip.

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss his shoulder. Her arms wound around them, pulling him as close as possible.

“Let me show you my heart,” he murmured back, adjusting until he aligned with her core and just barely pushed in. She felt too full already, overflowing with warmth and affection so strong it terrified her. But she embraced it, and him, and found that she had just a little more room for him than she expected.

It was the same as it always was when he laid her down at night after a long day and they each worked out their frustrations on or took comfort in each other. Just because they took an oath and weaved a new braid into the other’s hair did not make the experience drastically different. But it had never been mundane. She never grew tired of him. Every coupling was fresh, reinvigorating their physical bond at the same times as their emotional. And it only strengthened, even when they may have been at odds with one another.

She was hopelessly in love with him and his constancy.

“All right?” he murmured, his voice thin with effort.

She hummed, digging her heels into his back and urging him a little further. He resisted against his body’s commands, but he did not have to. He rolled his hips languidly against her, taking his time as if he actually needed to be careful. It stirred her speechless, nearly breathless, until he took up every bit of space in her, and she dropped her head back with sob. She was so close already.

He groaned words in her ear, garbled Khuzdul that she could not identify just yet, but the meaning was in the tone of his voice. Then he moved with steady, purposeful thrusts that touched every perfect spot. She gasped for air and stroked a hand down his back, her nails raking along the path. One of his hands pressed into the blankets fisted the fabric, and the muscles she touched jumped. He lifted his face from her neck and kissed her frantically, nearly violent, and she met the intensity. His braided beard tickled her neck and collar bone where it fell between them, and his loose strands brushed over her shoulders with each of his movements. Goosebumps arose across her skin.

“Want to move?” he rasped out, lips brushing hers and nose pressed to the hollow of her cheek. They often started out as they were, then flipped over so she was seated on him: her favorite position.

“No.” She could not resist the allure of his bulk laying over her.

With her word, his pace increased, and within two more strokes, her release consumed her in a hot rush. She gritted her teeth and arched into his front, holding herself there. It was only his length and what the scorching skin did to her stretched walls. Once she could see beyond the stars exploding in her vision, she looked up into his wild, determined eyes that poured into her all the love that she was bursting with for him. The adoration of a man who promised his endless devotion to her mere hours ago in the presence of all those who ever doubted the unprecedented union. A generous husband that ignored the muscles screaming at him to move as he paused to let her breathe for a moment.

She placed her palms on his cheeks, threading her fingers through the curly hair there. Her legs gripped harder, pleasure shooting into her stomach when he shifted in her. “Go,” she whispered.

The sickeningly sweet kiss he placed on her cheek tightened her chest delightfully. The moment he rocked into her once more, the knot in her belly returned, her limbs tingling. She laid back into the fur beneath her, unable to control her smile.

“You’re so lovely,” he murmured, muscles in his jaw jumping. He was nearing release; the endless sweet nothings preceded it. “Perfection.”

“No.” She could not, on good conscience, let that go, even if he had no idea what he was saying.

“Few are better.”

“Thorin…”

“Shh.” He kissed her again, occupying her tongue with his so she could utter no more denials and corrections that he preferred not to hear. She let him because maybe it felt good to hear him say such things as if they were true.

Each small sound between them—his grunt here or a shift of the blankets there—was trapped within the curtains surrounding the bed. They were amplified, falling into her ears and working her closer to a breathtaking end. His brilliantly delicious rhythm faltered just a little and a raspy bark left his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut, listening to his other senses. She cupped the back of his neck and traced the scar cutting through his brow to his nose. She needed him to feel what she had moments earlier, just as much or more as she needed to feel it again herself. It was just so easy. “Please.”

His eyes flew open, and his grip on her thigh clenched desperately. The sheer want in his gaze pushed her one more time over the edge. This time, he followed, head falling onto hers as he cried out hoarsely. His hips moved once, twice more, then he stilled and collapsed to her side. His nose fell into her neck, his heavy breaths cooling the sweat on her skin there.

She gripped him tightly because it never felt like that before. First time indeed.

A moment passed before he let out a small laugh. “Still in charge, even down there.”

“Want me to shut my mouth and lie there next time?”

“Oh, Mahal, no.” He pecked her shoulder a few times before lifting his head. The mused waves fell to one side, the ends scattered on the blanket next to her. “It’s no use trying to do anything different. I’m lost from the moment we are one.”

“I don’t think so.” She pushed against his chest until he rolled onto his back. Then she tucked herself into his side, sighing contently when his arm wound around her waist. “You hold back.”

“Not much.”

She felt too good to let in such unpleasant and unsettling thoughts as that sparked. Before her was a content dwarf who endlessly praised her in his native tongue as they neared climax together. He would not have taken her hand otherwise.

“You never disappoint, my queen,” he murmured in response to her thoughts. “I would have you just as you are, were I given any other choice.”

She sighed, nuzzling the raven and tracing the detailed feathers of its wing. It was rapturous, being good enough for someone. “Me, too.”

“You could not possibly find better.”

She giggled, kissing his hot skin. When she looked up to his face, a mischievous smirk glared enticingly at her. “But of course not. Grumpy kings are in short supply.”

He snorted. His hand ventured down to her arse, pinching just enough to sting. Then he curled around her and kissed her nose. “Done with me already?”

She lifted her head, taking her lip between her teeth and peering at him through her lashes. “I’m just getting started.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about as smutty as you'll get from me. I ain't good at it.  
> Anyway, I figured this would be a good place to start in describing their lives together, because we all needed it after that angst storm. What a workout. Things can only get better from here.
> 
> Right?


	6. The Arduous Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even as his life is threatened, all Thorin can think about is his hobbit.

**TA 2944: The Line of Durin is threatened with multiple attempts at King Thorin's life; the fourth one occurs in September, and Thorin reflects on his circumstances a few days later**

 

The assassination attempts started without much fanfare, and that was the most troubling part.

It was a simple gathering to celebrate the marriage of the son of one of his council members who happened to charm a highborn lass from the Iron Hills who happened to come from a family that Dáin knew. Long story short, Dáin’s arrival to Erebor required a feast, even if it was not an outstanding affair. Private as it was in one of the smaller event halls, everyone was comfortable, and Thorin was eager to tuck into his ale as he did so frequently as of late.

He sensed that something was wrong the moment he brought the drink to his lips. His nose, inherently primed for survival in mines where a single spark could mean total devastation, twitched at the pungent scent laced into the musk of the ale itself. The very tip of his tongue touched the drink, and his mouth immediately filled with a bitter flavor that sank deep into his lungs. His hearty coughing called the table’s attention, and an uproar followed.

The tankard had been handed to him in a moment where he was in deep conversation with the father of the bride seated at his left. The maid who brought it was questioned, and immediately dismissed from her duties when she refused to speak of who tasked her with serving the king. Thorin would not have her executed. She was shaking like a leaf the whole time. Instead, she had until noon the next day to have her belongings packed and moved out of the mountain.

“It would not accomplish anything,” he defended himself to his cousin when the red-haired dwarf nearly barreled into him in a fit of rage over his mercy. “Whatever prompted her to do it in the first place isn’t as important when faced with the risk of being caught again.” He retired to his chambers after bidding the guests farewell.

A letter sat on his desk when he arrived. His chest filled with warmth. The seal was nearly perfect; she was getting better at it.

The next time was just as subtle: a messenger who gained access to his office on “important business” that toted a knife which he pulled from the back of his trousers (Mahal only knew where it had been tucked). Thorin killed him before any questioning could happen, but security to his office increased after that. It was mildly annoying.

Those who had vendettas against him in Ered Luin made loud affairs of their attempts to out him, probably with some hope that they would be remembered if getting rid of him was the step toward a better future. Whoever controlled these pawns had no desire to be known; they could care less what happened, so long as Thorin was no longer alive. Those were the most dangerous kinds.

The third time was a similar ending. The fourth, however, made quite the scene.

Thorin dozed in his high-backed chair as one of his counsellors blabbered on about something they deemed important when he felt a breeze disturb his hair and a solid _thunk_ vibrated next to his head. The room exploded after that, and the guards flooded the viewing balcony circling the room above them. A hooded figure with a bow appeared from the darkness and jumped down when the floor was cleared of the armored dwarves. He grunted and hobbled out with a good number of politicians hoping for a reprisal of their warrior days on his heels.

Neither Thorin nor Balin made a move where they stopped next to the table to watch the scene, alone but for the guards that remained to sweep the room. Thorin sighed, pressing his thumb and index to his eyes. “Any ideas?”

Balin shook his head, lips pursed in thought. “Nae a clue, laddie. Though I suppose you cannae deny what’s in front of ye.”

“You know I don’t believe in coincidence,” he murmured. “They’re organized.”

“And they’re using dwarves.”

Thorin frowned. “Or they are dwarves.”

“Ye’ve had an unhappy lot after ye since ye took yer place. I should’ve predicted it’d get worse when ye took the throne, too.”

“I did.”

“But somebody wanting so badly to be rid of ye? Do ye have any leads at all?”

“Yes. They’re squatting in my home.” Ignoring the swath of guards trying to make sure he had a few swords next to him, he marched out of the room.

It was too exhausting to think about the people planning his demise currently fouling his halls with their schemes. The time would come soon that they finally realized the direct approach would get them nowhere, and they would turn to slander. As rocky as his relationship with his council was at that moment, Thorin imagined that they would be the first to gobble up any slander.

“Sure they arenae behind it?”

Thorin looked up from staring at his goblet of wine. Dwalin, a half-full tankard in his hand, leaned against the corner of his parlor desk. “What?”

Dwalin winced. “Well, shit. Shouldna spoken a word.”

Thorin snorted. “You know well enough I wouldn’t believe something unless there was plenty of evidence in its favor.”

“Oh, yeah. Like how ye thought our mutual friend was doing the elves’ dirty work? How long did ye hold onto that one?”

“You’d already been under her spell long before you actually accepted that she’d been in Rivendell.” He tossed a pen at him.

“Donae prove a thing ‘cause we had the truth at that point.”

Thorin grumbled. He anticipated Cori’s return far sooner than Dwalin ever letting that go. “You’re right. They might be planning something.”

“The only reason I’d ever let that thought continue in yer head is because ye can hold it now better’n you could a long time ago. Aye, I donae think we can let any possibility slide by.”

Dwalin was right, however much Thorin wanted to pardon a few on his council. The only one in that room that he could really trust was Balin, and that was just good judgment.

“I am starting to believe it was for the best that she stayed,” he murmured into the rim of his goblet, soaking his mouth with a sizable gulp.

“Me, too,” Dwalin cackled, eyeing the goblet with interest. “Think how easy it’d be to get to ye if they went after her first. Course, I’d bet my salary you’d rage on with an arrow ‘tween your eyes. You tend to lose yer head for the lass.”

Thorin hummed, grinning. “Yes and no.”

The only reason Thorin had not eliminated his entire board was because of Cori, and yet he could hardly get anything done because she pestered him so, even hundreds of miles apart. Insolent little hobbit. Mahal, he missed her.

“Any encouraging letters yet?” Dwalin asked, his finger nonchalantly sifting through the pile of papers on the corner of the desk.

“Garthor and Basil are having a child.”

“Basil. That li’l relative of Baggins?”

“That narrows it. But aye.”

“To them.” He took a long swig, not waiting for Thorin to catch up. “Other worthwhile notes, I mean.”

“I knew what you meant. No.”

“Well, there’s something to building a home from rubble, ain’t there?”

“She can take all the time she needs, with this going on.”

He chuckled. “You donae mean that.”

Thorin sat straight and let his head roll to the back of the chair. The same number of cracks lined the ceiling as always. “I knew I’d want her. I just never imagined how much. Dammit, it’s terrifying.”

“Remind me not to fall in love anytime soon.”

“Not a worry.”

“Do ye have any reason to believe she wouldnae come back?”

Thorin saw the tears in her eyes the day they parted in Buckland. Not just for him, but for the rest of the company that she bonded with after so long. He remembered her tiny, soft hands clinging to him as they said their farewells while the morning sunlight beamed onto their bed. The tender longing for just a little while longer could not be mistaken. But that was over a year ago.

As much as he wanted to pretend that she would find everything she could ever want in his home, he was competing entirely with her identity. She loved Buckland, the Shire, however complicated her relationship with it was. She surveyed the greenery and the quaint little homes with contentment as they rode through. Her family loved her, and her town accepted her as a champion. It was plain to see she wanted a life there, though it was one that he could not possibly be a part of. She had every reason to stay right where she was, and it was foolish to presume that he was more important to her than any of that. He could hope, but in the end, their relationship stood on an unsteady foundation. Could they ever have succeeded?

“She’d have a bit to say ‘bout ye doubting her.”

Thorin blinked from his reflecting, grinning wistfully. “She’d understand.”

“Just ask her plainly.”

“She’s staying for the harvesting and planting seasons to come. That much I know. She’ll play it by ear after that.”

“See? She i’nae sure, which means she still wants to come. Logical deductions, Thorin. Ye’re charring yer mind with that council nonsense. She willnae be too impressed with a braindead king when she gets here.” He gathered up both their empty cups and headed for the door. “Speaking of which, Balin says to be in the torture chamber at five.”

There went the relaxing evening he had been promised. “Tell him I’m already booked.”

“Will do.”

He had not talked about her so much out loud in a while. It stirred his thoughts and drove him into a bottomless pit where it was just her. All the way up until he went to bed, he tried to imagine what she was doing at that time. Late evening. She was probably having dinner with her family. No, supper. He lost track sometimes. Or maybe she had had a long day of harvesting and sat up to her collar bones in a warm, relaxing bath. He focused on the flush of her skin and her feet resting on the edge of the tub, toes playing, and he let those thoughts carry him into sleep.

He dreamed of just that. If it continued, the morning would come with that familiar dull ache. But he indulged anyway. Her hands drifted across his chest and stomach, tingling. Her breath rushed onto his neck where her lips would always play as their mutual pleasure rose. Her dark brown curls tickled his cheek. Her body was smooth beneath his fingertips, the path of her curves memorized as well as the anvil. Her heat and flesh surrounded him. The pain of the waking day was worth every moment he spent near her in sleep.

Dís said not to fear love. It was unsettling, true. But he had no reason to question the intensity of his desire for her body and soul. She still awed at the longevity of her bond with her husband, Víli, long dead and ash as he was. He had hope, strengthening his yearning for the girl; its endurance assured his sister that he had fallen hard and true. Him as well.

So he let her handwriting be his balm for the burns left by his daily responsibilities and her image against his closed eyelids invigorate him for a new day closer to her return. He indulged in the endless barrage of pleasant what ifs, and a life beyond his blood and title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Been a while, I know. I'm swamped with school and incredibly distracted with other life stuff that just can't seem to be resolved fast enough. I find it hard to get into the writing mindset outside of writing for my classes. But here we are, a couple days late for Valentine's. But Thorin's being an adorable lovesick dwarf, so that should do fine.  
> I'll try to get to more shots faster. Hope you all are doing well. Adieu for now.


	7. Taken As Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cori leaves behind a reluctantly resigned king for the second time.

**November 5 TA 2945: Cori Houndberry leaves Erebor with King Bard of Dale and his company**

 

Even in his old age, Thorin remained a naïve fool. It was time these childish hopes of his ended, or the rest of his life would be wasted away in fantastical dreams of things that he just was not fated to have. He watched the love of his life leave once more, this time from the gates of his home, without any idea when he would see her next, or if. And Thorin surrendered. He had to accept the nature of their relationship—she would always roam, and he would be there waiting for her return—and understand that a charming happy ending was not realistic for them.

He felt a presence at his side as he watched the king of Dale’s company ride toward the man city with his hobbit in toe. His sister’s perfume forced its way into his nose. “I will not allow her back if she returns.”

His head jerked to the side. The strong, stubborn profile of Dís pointed out of the mountain, staring where the horses faded into the distance. “What?”

“She isn’t leaving just for a hunting trip, is she? You did not look half as gutted when she went to the Woodland Realm with Kíli.”

He stayed silent. A reply was not necessary for her.

“I warned her against breaking your heart. She hasn’t listened, so I’ll make sure she understands the consequences if she ever shows her soft, pouty face and pointed ears around here again.”

“Watch your words.”

She scoffed. “She has hurt you, yet you still defend her. Thorin, you are not so rattlebrained about women as that. I know you.”

“Do not forget that she saved both your sons’ lives.”

“I haven’t. I won’t. But while I owe her a great debt, I am not obligated to grovel at her feet when she is in the wrong. Though I still believe her to be a good person, I misjudged her character, probably because I was blinded by gratitude. She is selfish.”

“I encouraged her to leave.”

Finally, she turned to look at him. “You…”

“She has endured much since she arrived here, Dís. More than you are aware. I am astounded that she stayed as long as she did. But Erebor is not for her as it is for us. She will not grow here, only wither. She is not the same as when she entered those gates those months ago.”

“I see she is unhappy. It is homesickness.”

“It goes beyond that.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “Thank you for your care, sister. I know you do it for love of me. But know that she is leaving because I love her, and I will not lose her to the stone that gives us life.”

“Where will she go?”

“She wishes to return to her business. I hope she will leave the East for home, the Shire. I want her with family rather than alone in the wilderness. She says she’ll come back to visit when she has cleared her head. I will not hold her to it.”

“You should.” She whirled around abruptly as he turned to leave the battlements. “She will continue to drag you around by a leash if you let her do as she pleases. She isn’t so considerate of you as you are of her.”

He chuckled, cocking one eye at her. “I cannot be the one in charge of us, Dís. Or I will end up with a different lass than I fell in love with. Just so you know, I advise her and she listens often. It is usually I who is the fool when she doesn’t.”

His little sister, ever the family guardian. Her dwarf blood ran thickly in her veins and instructed her actions, and for that reason should she have been the monarch of this kingdom instead of Thorin. She had a dwarf husband, bore two sons who turned into extraordinary warriors, and upheld without question the long-winded principles that guided dwarves since they were first placed into Middle-earth. She was popular, consequently. He knew she wished every day that he had resisted the charms of a halfling and remained a bachelor king until the end of his days.

He no longer thought entirely like a dwarf. He had to inhabit his hobbit’s mind, too, so he could woo her. Eventually, it became more and more difficult to switch between the two mindsets, and there the hobbit side bled into the one he was born with. That was why Dís could not understand his lenience for Cori. If he acted like a dwarf toward a hobbit (as much as she denounced any intentions of making him into anything but what he was), he would have lost her entirely long ago. He saw how she tried for him, too. It just was not enough.

These circumstances were the best they could do without undermining themselves. He had to be content with that.

He avoided his—their—chambers that night. He retreated to his office and took up the routine he had started those two years they were separated. Eventually, he would pluck up the courage to face the space that still had traces of her lingering everywhere. But it would not be soon.

He proved himself wrong when Lizzy entered the city, shoving past every single guard that tried to stop her, screaming his name until she was hoarse. The scents of her soaps calmed him when all he wanted to do was bash heads into the wall.

He sent for the bedsheets to be changed when they arrived back to Erebor from the Iron Hills, his sickly but living hobbit under his arm.

Dís accepted her back with a hug, and ignored Thorin’s smug grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More moping Thorin, except this one ends a little lighter. The next one I do will be longer (maybe) and definitely include Cori. This is, after all, her story.


	8. Permanent Fixture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cori gets an ink marking while visiting Bern in Durmark.

**July 8 TA 2944: Facing winter starvation, Cori Houndberry petitioned the dwarves of Ered Luin for resources.**

In the Blue Mountains, the dwarves retained their pride for their race and heritage as much as they did anywhere else in Middle-earth. The difference was that a good number of them were not descended from anybody worth truly remembering, like Durin I, or so the general opinion was. Some had been to Erebor and the Iron Hills for trade and found both halls to be stuffy and uptight. It had to do with their close descent from royalty and the like. They had an image to uphold, and the good name of their bloodline had to remain untarnished. Such things tended to demand respect from other races, should the need arise. Ered Luin was different, and they took advantage of that. Inhibitions fled in the name of living in the moment.

After Cori arrived at Durmark to negotiate provisions for the war-ravaged Shire, she stayed an additional two days to make preparations for the arrival of the hobbit’s wagons to fill with winter rations. She would not oversee the task; responsibilities in Buckland called for her attention. But she came all that way. When there was merriment to be had, hobbits never missed out.  Bent over backwards as she was with work, she easily succumbed to the slack of the mountain after proficient mining set everyone in a splurging state. A little peer pressure went a long way.

Alcohol was persuasive, too.

As part of his new position in the mountain, Bern, son of Breen, acquired quarters fitting that of a high-ranking officer in the lord’s army. The room was probably bigger than her parents’ house. The night after her arrival, he invited her in for a tour. They were both tipsy, and he had already poured himself another half-tankard of ale by the time she took off her coat. She declined his offer for another in a surprisingly sober moment. 

To be invited into a dwarf’s personal space Cori knew was an honor. They liked to display as many belongings as possible. “To take up space,” she learned while on the quest with the Erebor company. Dwarves spent too much time getting shoved out of places. She hesitated at the door when Bern opened it, and he gave her a reassuring smile as he stepped aside to allow her in. She was undoubtedly a friend, and he was letting her closer to him than the majority of non-dwarves managed.

“Nice,” she said with a wink.

He took the compliment with a grin. It was more than a comment on the décor.

When Bern removed his cloak, the short sleeve of his tunic rose up just a little. Buried in the thick air of his arm was an ink marking. It looked like a key with two short swords crossed behind it.

“Myrra wore a key around her neck. Never told me what it went to.”

He had only mentioned the name of his lost love once, and it was in passing just like that. He had no intention of revealing anything more to her, and she would not pry. He grew quiet after speaking of her directly for a moment before he followed another rabbit trail of thought. Asking him would accomplish nothing good.

“Want to see my others?” he asked.

“You have more?”

Next, the tunic and armor came completely off. His back was a canvas filled with black ink on a background of solid muscle. It was primarily runes and sharp angles, symbols whose meanings were not accessible to outsiders like her. There were gemstones slotted into some shapes, and a bear’s wide jaws on his lower spine. “It’s beautiful.”

“Lot o’ painful hours, those were,” he chuckled, tossing his clothes aside and relaxing in the chair again. A wide archway with runes spread across his chest and disappeared around the wide barrel of his torso. It was the only thing on the front.

“Why so many on your back? You can’t see them unless you look at a mirror.”

“The idea isn’t to study them. I know each one is there, and which ones are where, because I remember getting them. That’s the point. The ink soaks into your skin and becomes a part of you. Can’t forget that in a pinch. Anyway, I’m not the one that needs to look at them.”

She wondered what others thought of him when they looked at the markings. The ordeal of getting them probably awarded him a great deal of respect, not to mention anything of the message in the runes. She did not need to see them to think that. She knew what he was capable of.

“How bad does it hurt?”

He shrugged, swallowing his swig of ale. “It gets worse the larger the area. See, it swells up real bad. You get a lot done and you end up with more skin to bump into things. Got the bear all at once. Slept on my stomach for a week. The darker the ink, the sorer the sting, ‘cause they gotta stab you a bunch.” He grinned. “I’m not making a good case for it, am I?”

She hummed, her eyes cast down in thought.

“What you got in mind, lass?”

“I’ve wanted something for years now, but I never knew what it should be. I knew it’d hurt. I suppose something small. Where’re the best places?”

“For women? Breasts. Arse.”

She deadpanned.

He cackled merrily. “It’s true. Places with plenty o’ fat sting the least. I got one on the left cheek, though I suppose you aren’t hankering to see that one. Usually it’s something personal that only you or someone intimate will see, if you don’t mind that.”

“I don’t want to hide it.”

“All right. The back isn’t so bad. Up around the shoulders where it’s more fleshy. A dress with a low neckline would show it off good.”

“Up near the neck?”

“Across the spine gets a little iffy, but on either side is pretty decent.”

Thorin had one across the back of his shoulders. A tribute to the company that reclaimed Erebor with him.

“Any ideas on designs?” she asked.

He dropped his head back to scrutinize her down his nose. “Doubt anyone’s ever done hobbity things before.”

She laughed. “A flower would certainly match that.”

“They all mean something, don’t they? You mentioned that once. What’s one that’s real special to you?”

Her mind immediately jumped to one, and she snorted. “Thorin was trying to be romantic and picked up one that is used to solicit sex.”

He choked into his mug and shook with the force of his laughter for a moment. “Then what’s this I hear of the good king being a smooth flirt?”

“He’s getting old.”

“Can’t blame him, really. When those particular feelings get stirred up, a lad forgets even the most rehearsed speeches.”

Thorin Oakenshield, nervous? He would have something to say about that.

“You gotta be sure about something concerning him,” Bern said gently. “Ink’s permanent.”

No matter what happened, Cori wanted every reminder of Thorin that she could obtain. What he did to her was beyond her comprehension, so she could not possibly relay that to Bern. “You’ll just have to trust me, then.”

He nodded. “All right, then.”

It came to her in a flash, and she knew precisely what she wanted to do.

Bern sought out a friend who famously inked a number of named dwarves in Durmark and beyond, including Lord Arin himself. The artist, Dunn, faced a shock when she realized who her next client was. Apparently, she had been at the Battle Out of Oatbarton as a soldier under Thorin’s command before Cori and Bern’s troop arrived.

“We were all a trifle impressed by you taking out the Man like you did,” she made conversation as she sterilized her tools. “A clean arrow you shot there. Took some courage to show that beast mercy.”

It was somehow easier to talk about Ryone with someone who did not quite know the whole story. “How much better are we if we stoop to his level?”

She shrugged dismissively. “Can’t argue with you there.”

Dunn never once mentioned knowing who Cori was to the King Under the Mountain, despite certainly having an idea, if she had witnessed Ryone’s death. Her behavior remained uncensored, casual, even to the point of making Bern uncomfortable. Cori just wanted to laugh along with her. What a breath of fresh air!

“Never gotten anything before, I’ll assume,” Dunn said as Cori laid on her stomach on a table in the middle of the dam’s home. “May I?”

Cori fumbled with her reasoning for a moment before she realized Dunn wanted to tie her hair out of the way. “Of course. No, this is my first mark.”

“In for a bit of a jolt here, then.”

That brought her attention to the butterflies swirling around in her stomach. “Well, I _wasn’t_ worried.”

Dunn chuckled throatily. “I do that to all my firsts. You gotta pull some kind of excitement out of the job.”

“Client screams aren’t enough?”

“Lass, you’d be surprised the things I hear in this position.”

That did not help. She walked into it, really.

Bern sat in a chair close to the head of the table. He smiled whenever she looked up at him, just when she needed it. With her tunic loosened and lowered, her hair pinned out of the way, and the rest of her comfortably sprawled out, Dunn leaned over her and began her work.

It was a new kind of pain. Not necessarily worse than anything Cori had ever felt before, but an unfamiliar sensation that, were she any less sturdy of mind, would probably have alarmed her. Nonetheless, she knew pain, physical and mental, and this one was easy to navigate. What Bern mentioned about certain places was true, and she had to concentrate on her breathing to prevent any noise from getting out. The process took longer than she imagined, especially with the smaller design, but she startled when she realized she had dozed off.

Dunn expertly avoided the jerk when Cori returned to consciousness, humming in amusement. “You were better off staying out.”

“Don’t doubt it.”

“Almost done.”

Thankfully, Dunn had started off the marking across her spine, leaving the easier parts for the last little bit. Cori was glad of this; she was losing patience and nerve quickly. Finally, the dam dabbed her with the cloth for the last time and stood up to stretch her back. “You don’t have the thick skin of a dwarf. You all right?”

“Fine, actually.” Her voice was strained, but her words came truthfully.

After running through the instructions on how to take care of the wound and for how long, Dunn gave her a mirror and showed her where to look.

“Not bad, there, lassie,” Bern grinned as he studied it with her. “Both of you.”

A raven, wings spread wide about the length of her hand, laid across her shoulders. Below it, grasped in its talons, was a rose in full bloom. Its thorny stem wrapped around the raven’s wings. The detail of it all was astonishing. “It’s beautiful,” she gasped, quite unable to tear her eyes from it.

“Looks good on you,” Dunn commented with a smile as she cleaned up her utensils. “A fitting thing for a halfling, if I know anything about them.”

“He’ll be floored,” Bern chuckled, sending her a wink.

Thorin would know, better than anyone, what it meant. Of course, it went beyond the hold that he had on her. The raven was a symbol for Durin’s folk and his heirs. More than one had managed to capture the lonely, apathetic heart of a homeless hobbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Cori's tattoo that Thorin loved so much? Here's the story behind it.  
> I've never gotten a tattoo, so anything about the process was based off a five-minute Google search. I'm sure things were quite different before electric needles were made.  
> I've finally convinced myself that these little snippets don't need to be as complex as the original story. They are for fun and writing them should be, too. That's why they're getting out so fast. Don't worry, there is plenty of Cori/Thorin interaction waiting in the wings. They're very exciting indeed. ;D


End file.
